
Class 
Book. 



AUTUMN FLOWERS 



OTHER POEMS. 



BY MRS. SOU THEY, 

(late CAKOLIXE BOWLES.) 



BOSTON: 

SAXTON; PEIRCE & CO 

133 1-2 Washington Street. 
NEW YORK: SAXTON & MILES. 

1844. 






6 516 3 

FEB 1 7 1941 



I Georoe Coolidge, Pimnter, 
I 57 Washingtoit' Street, Boston. 



CONTENTS 



Autumn flowers, 

My garden, .... 

To little Maty, 

' Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof,' 

The treaty. 

Abjuration, .... 

To a dying infant, 

Sunday evening, . . , 

Little Leonard's last 'good night,' . 

A fair place and pleasant. 

The mariner's hymn, 

' There is a tongue in every leaf,' 

The broken bridge, 

The mother's lament, 

' It is not death,' . 

On the near prospect of leaving home, 1838, 



CONTENTS. 



The ladye's bridalle, 
Sonnet, 1818, 
Sonnet, 1821, 
Gracious rain, 
The welcome home, 1820, 
The night-smelling stock, 
My evening, 
Farewell to my friends. 
The primrose. 
Farewell to Greece, . 
The three frienda, 
Ranger's grave, , 




ATJTTJMN FLO¥ERS 



r^' 



AUTUMN FLOWERS. 

Those few pale Autumn flowers ! 

How beautiful they are ! 
Than all that went before, 
Than all the Summer store, 

How lovelier far ! 

And why ? They are the lait — 
The last ! — the last ! —the last ! 

O, by that Utile word, 

How many thoughts are stirred ! 
That sister of the past ! 
2 



< 



10 AUTUMN FLOWERS. 

Pale flowers ! — pale perishing flowers ! 

Ye 're ty])es of precious things ; 
Types of those bitter moments 
That flit, like life's enjoyments, 

On rapid, rapid wings — 

Last hours with parting dear ones, 
(That time the fastest spends,) 

Last tears, in silence shed. 

Last words, half-uttered, 
Last looks of dying friends! 

Who but would fain compress 

A life into a day ; 
The last day spent Avith one, 
Who, ere the morrow's sun, 

Must leave us, and for aye? 

O, precious, precious moments! 

Pale flowers! ye 're types of those — 
The saddest! sweetest! dearest! 



AUTUMN FLOWEKS. 

Because, like those, the nearest 
Is an eternal close. 

Pale flowers ! pale perishing flowers ! 

I woo your gentle breath ; 
I leave the Summer rose 
For younger, blither brows ; 

Tell me of change and death ! 



MY GARDEN. 

I LOVE my Garden ! — dearly love 

That little spot of ground ! 
There 's not, methinks, (though I may err 
In partial pride,) a pleasanler. 

In all the country round ! 

The smooth green turf winds gently there, 
With no ungraceful bend, 



AUTUMN FLOWERS. 

Round many a bed and many a border, 

Where, gaily grouped in sweet disorder, 

Young Flora's darlings blend. 

Spring! Summer! Autumn! Of all three, 

Whose reign is loveliest there ? 
O I is not she who paints the ground, 
When its frost fetters are unbound, 
The fairest of the fair? 

I gaze upon her violet beds, 

Laburnums, golden tressed, 
Her flower-spiked almonds ; breathe perfume 
From lilac and seringa bloom ; 

And cry, ' I love Spring best! ' 

But Summer comes, with all her pomp 

Of fragrance, beauty, bliss ! 
And from amidst her bowers of roses, 
I sigh, as purple evening closes, 

' What season equals this? ■ 



ADTITMN FLOWERS. 13 

That pageant passeth by. Comes next 

Brown Aulumn in her turn ; 
O I not unwelcome cometh she ; 
The parched earth luxuriously 

Drinks from her dewy urn. 

And she hath flowers, and fragrance too, 

Peculiarly her own ; 
Asters of every hue ; perfume, 
Spiced rich with clematis and broom, 

And mignionette late blown. 

Then if some lingering rose I spy 

Reclining languidly, 
Or the bright laurel's glossy green, 
Dear Autumn 1 my whole heart, I ween, 

Leaps up for love of thee ! 

Oyes! I love my garden well, 

And find employment there — 
Employment sweet for many an hour, 



14 AUTUMN FLOWERS. 

In tending every shrub and flower 
With still unwearied care. 

I prop the weaklj^, prune the rude, 

Scalier the various seeds, 
Clear out intruders, yet of those 
Oft sparing, what the florist knows 
To be but gaudy weeds. 

But when my task — my pleasant task I - 

Is ended for the day — 
Sprinkled o'er every sun-bowed flower 
The artificial evening shower, 

Then oftentimes I stray, 

(Inherent is the love of change 
In human hearts,) far, far 
Beyond the garden gate — the bound 
That clips my Utile Eden round. 
Chance for my leading star ; 



AUTUMN FLOWERS. 15 

Through hollow lanes or coppice paths, 

By hill or hawthorn fence, 
O'er thymy commons, clover fields, 
Where every step I take reveals 

Some charm of sight or sense. 

The winding path brings suddenly 

A rustic bridge in sight ; 
Beneath it, gushing brightly out. 
The rivulet, where speckled trout 

Leap in the circling light. 

Pale water-lilies float thereon, 
The Naiads' loveliest wreath ! 

The adders' tongues dip down to drink; 

The flag peers high above the brink, 
From her long, slender sheath. 

There, on the greensward, an old oak 

Stands singly — one, I trow. 
Whose mighty shadow spread as wide, 



AUTUMN FLOWERS. 

When they were in their prime, who died 
A hundred years ago, 

A sing-le ewe, with her twin lambs, 

Stands the gray trunk beside ; 
Others lie clustering in the shade, 
Or, down the windings of the glade, 
Are scattered far and wide. 

Two mossy thorns, o'er yonder stile 

A bowery archway rise ; 
O, what a flood of fragrance thence 
Breathes out I Behind that hazel fence 

A flowering bean-field lies. 

The shadowy path winds gently on 

That hazel fence beneath ; 
The wild-rose, and the woodbine there 
Shoot up, festooning high in air 

Their oft-eutangled wreath. 



AUTUMN FLOWERS. J 

The path winds on, on either side 

Walled in by hedges high ; 
Their boughs so thickly arching over, 
That scarce one speck you can discover — 

One speck of the blue sky ! 

A lovely gloom ! It pleaseth me 

And lonely Philomel. 
Hark ! the enchantress sings I — that strain 
Dies with a tremulous fall ! — again — 

O, what a gushing swell ! 

Darker and darker still the road, 
Scarce lit by twilight glances ; 

Darker and darker still — but see ! 

Yonder, on that young aspen-tree, ■ 
A darting sunbeam dances. 

Another gems the bank below 
With emeralds ! Into one 
They blend — unite — one emerald sea! 



18 AUTUMN FLOWERS. 

And last, in all his majesty, 

Breaks through the setting sun I 

And I am breathless, motionless, 
Mute with delight and love ! 
My very being seems to blend 
With all around me — to ascend 
To the great source above. 

I feel I am a spark struck out 

From an eternal flame ; 
A part of the stupendous whole, 
His work, who breathed a deathless soul 

Into this mortal frame. 

And they shall perish — all these things ; 

Darkness shall quench this ball : 
Death-throes, this solid earth shall rive, 
Yet I — frail thing of dust ! — survive 

The final wreck of all. 



AUTUMN FLOWERS. 

Wake up my glory ! lute and harp! ' 

Be vocal every chord ; 
Lo ! all his works in concert sing, 
Praise, praise to the Eternal King,' 

The Universal Lord! 

O, powerless will ! O, languid voice ! 

Weak words ! imperfect lays ! 
Yet could His works alone inspire 
The feelings that attune my lyre 

To these faint notes of praise. 

Not to the charms of tasteful art 

That I am cold or dull ; 
I gaze on all the graceful scene, 
The clustering flowers, the velvet green, 

And cry, ' how beautiful I ' 

But when to Nature's book I turn, 

The page she spreads abroad ; 

Tears only to mine eyes that steal, 



20 AUTUMN FLOWERS. 



Bear witness that I see and feel 
The mighty hand of God ! 



TO LITTLE MARY. 

I'm bidden, little Mary, 

To write verses unto thee ; 
I'd fain obey the bidding, 

If it rested but with me ; 
But the mistresses I'm bound to, 

(Nine ladies hard to please,) 
Of all their stores poetic. 

So closely keep the keys, 
'Tis only now and then. 

By good luck, as we may say, 
A couplet or a rhyme or two 

Falls fairly in my way. 

Fruit forced is never half so sweet 
As that comes quite in season ; 



AUTUMN FLOWERS, 21 

But some folks must be satisfied 
With rhyme in spile of reason ; 

So muses all befriend me, 
Albeit of help so chary, 

To string the pearls of poesy 
For loveliest little Mar>^ 

And yet, ye pagan damsels. 

Not over fond am I 
To invoke your haughty favors, 

Your fount of Castaly ; 
I've sipped a purer fountain ; 

I 've decked a holier shrine ; 
I own a mightier mistress ; 

O Nature ! thou art mine. 

And only to that well-head. 

Sweet Marj--, I '11 resort 
For just an artless verse or two, 

A simple strain, and short. 
Befitting well a pilgrim 



22 AVTUMN FLOWERS, 

Way-worn wath care and strife, 
To ofler thee, young- traveller, 
In the morning track of life. 

There 's many a one will tell thee 

'T is all with roses gay ; 
There 's many a one will tell thee 

'Tis thorny all the way ; 
Deceivers are they, every one, 

Dear child, who thus pretend ; 
God's ways are not unequal ; 

Make him thy trusted friend ; 
And many a path of pleasantness 

He '11 clear away for thee, 
However dark and intricate 

The labyrinth may be. 

I need not wish thee beauty, 
I need not wish thee grace ; 

Already both are budding 
In that infant form and face. 



AUTUMN FLOWERS, 23 

I ivill not wish thee grandeur, 

I loill not wish ihee weahh, 
But only a contented heart, 

Peace, competence, and heaUh, 
Fond friends to love thee dearly, 

And honest friends to chide, 
And faithful ones to cleave to thee, 

Whatever may betide. 

And now, my little Mary ! 

If better things remain, 
Unheeded in my blindness, 

Unnoticed in my strain, 
I '11 sum them up succinctly 

In ' English undefiled,' 
My mother tongue's best benison — 

God bless thee, precious child! 



21 AUTUMN FLOWERS. 



SUFFICIENT UNTO THE DAY IS THE 
EVIL THEREOF.' 

O ! BY that gracious rule, 

Were we but wise to steer 
On the wide sea of Thought, 
What moments, trouble-fraught, 
Were spared us here ! 

But we, (perverse and blind,) 

As covetous of pain. 
Not only seek for more 
Yet hidden, but live o'er 

The past again. 

This life is called brief; 

Man on the earth but crawls 
His threescore years and ten, 
At best fourscore, and then 

The ripe fruit falls. 



AUTUMN FLOWERS. 25 

Yet, betwixt birth and death, 

Were but the life of man 
By his thoughts measured, 
To what an age would spread 

That little span ! 

There are, who 're born and die, 
Eat, sleep, walk, rest between. 

Talk, act by clockwork too ; 

So pass, in order due, 
Over the scene. 

AVilh whom the past is past, 

The future, nothing yet ; 
And so, from day to day, 
They breathe, till called to pay 

The last great debt. 

Tlieir life, in truth, is brief; 

A speck — a point of time, 
Whether in good old age 
3 



AUTUMN FLOWERS. 

Ending their pilgrimage, 
Or in its prime. 

But other some there are, 
(I call them not more wise,) 

In whom the restless mind 

Still lingereth behind, 
Or forward flies. 

With these^ things pass away ; 

But past things are not dead ; 
In the heart's treasury, 
Deep-hidden, dead they lie, 

Unwithered. 

And there the soul retires, 

• From the dull things that are, 
To mingle, oft and long. 
With the time-hallowed throng 
Of those that were. 



AUTCMN FLOWERS. 27 

Then into life start out 

The scenes long vanished ; 
Then we behold again 
The forms that have long lain 

Among the dead. 

We seek their grasp of love, 
We meet their beaming eye ; 

We speak — the vision's flown, 

Dissolving with its own 
Intensity. 

Years rapidly shift on, 
(Like clouds athwart the sky,) 

And, lo! sad watch we keep, 

When in perturbed sleep, 
The sick doth lie. 

We gaze on some pale face, 

Shown by the dim watch-light ; 
Shuddering we gaze, and pray, 



23 AUTUMN FLOWERS. 

And weep, and wish away 
The long, long night. 

And yet minutest things, 

That mark time's tedious tread, 
Are on the feverish brain, 
With self-protracting pain, 
Deep minuted — 

The drops with trembling hand, 
(Love steadied,) poured out ; 

The draught replenished, 

The label oft re-read 
With nervous doubt : 

The watch, that ticks so loud j 
The winding it, for one 

Whose hand lies powerless ; 

And then the fearful guess, 
' Ere this hath run . . . : ' 



AUTUMN FLOWEES. 29 

The shutter, half unclosed 

As the night wears away, 
Ere the last stars are set — 
Pale stars ! that linger yet, 

Till perfect day : 

The morn, so oft invoked, 

That bringeth no relief; 
From which, with sickening sight, 
We turn as if its light 

But mocked our grief. 

O ! never after-dawn 

For us the east shall streak. 
But we shall see again, 
With the same thoughts as then, 

That pale day-break! 

The desolate awakening, 

When first we feel alone ! 
' Dread memories ' are these I 



30 AUTUMN FLOWERS. 

Yet who, for heartless ease, 
Would exchange one? 

These are the soul's hid wealth — 
Relics embalmed with tears. 

Or, if her curious eye 

Searches futurity — 
The depth of years ; 

There, (from the deck of youth,) 

Enchanted land she sees ; 
Blue skies and sun-bright bowers 
Reflected, and tall towers, 
On glassy seas. 

But heavy clouds collect 

Over that bright-blue sky ; 
And rough winds rend the trees, 
And lash those glassy seas 
To billows higli I 



AUTUMN FLOWERS. 31 

And then, the last thing seen 

By that dim light, may be, 
(With helm and rudder lost,) 
A lone wreck, tempest-tost, 

On the dark sea! 

Thus doth the soul extend 

Her brief existence here, 
Thus muUiplielh she, 
(Yea, to infinity!) 

The short career. 

Presumptuous and unwise ! 

As if the present sum 
Were little of life's woe ! 
Why seeketh she to know 

Ills yet to come? 

Look up, look up, my soul, 

To loftier mysteries ! 
Trust in His word to thee, 



32 AUTUMN FLOWERS. 

Who saith, ' all tears shall be 
Wiped from all eyes.' 

And when thou tamest back, 

(O ! what can chain thee here?) 
Seek out the isles of light, 
On ' memory's waste ' yet bright ; 
Or if too near 

To desolate plains they lie, 
All dark with guilt and tears, 

Still, still retrace the past, 

Till thou alight at last 
On life's first years. 

There not a passing cloud 
Obscures the sunny scene ; 

No blight on the young tree ; 

No thought of what may be. 
Or what hath been. 



AUTUMN FLOWERS. 33 

There all is Hope — not Hope — 
For all things are possessed. 

No — bliss without alloy, 

And innocence and joy, 
In the young breast : 

And all-confiding love, 

And holy ignorance. 
Thrice blessed veil ! soon torn 
From eyes foredoomed to mourn 

For man's offence. 

O, thither, weary spirit ! 

Flee from this world defiled. 
How oft, heart-sick and sore, 
I've wished I were once more 

A little child ! 






34 AUTUMN FLOWERS. 



THE TREATY. 

Never tell rae of loving by measure and weight, 
As one's merits may lack or abound ; 

As if love could be carried to market, like skate, 
And cheapened for so much a pound. 

If it can — if yours can — let them have it who care ; 

You and I, friend ! shall never agree ; 
Pack, and to market — be off with your ware ; 

It 's a great deal too common for me. 

Do ye linger and laugh? I 'm sincere, I declare, 

But belike over hasty in thought ; 
If it suits ye to close with my terms as they are, 

Well and good — but I wo n'l bate a jot. 

You must love me — Ave '11 note the chief articles 
now, 
To preclude all mistakes in our pact. 



AUTUMN FLOWERS. 35 

And I'll pledge ye, unmasked and beforehand, my 
vow, 
To give double for all I exact. 

You must love me, not only through ' evil report,' 
When its falsehood you know or divine, 

But when upon earth I can only resort 
To your heart, as a voucher for mine. 

You must love — not my faults, but, in spite of 
them, me, 

For the very caprices that vex ye ; 
Nay, the more, should ye chance, as it's likely, to see 

'Tis my special delight to perplex ye. 

You must love me, albeit all the world I offend 
With my follies, my feelings, conceit, 

AVliile assured, (if you are not, all treaty must end,) 
That I never can stoop to deceit. 

While assured, as Ave must be, (or there, too, we 
must pan,) 



36 AUTUMN FLOWERS. 

That, were all the world leagued against you, 
To loosen one hair of your hold on my heart, 
Would be more than ' life's labors ' could do. 

You must love me, howe'er I may take things amiss, 
Whereof you in all conscience stand clear, 

And although, when you'd fain make it up with a 
kiss. 
Your reward be a box on the ear. 

You must love me, not only when smiling and gay, 
Complying, sweet-tempered, and civil ; 

But when moping, and frowning, and froward — or 
to say, 
The thing plain out — as cross as the devil. 

You must love me in all moods — in seriousness — 
in sport — 

Under all change of circumstance, too ; 
Apart, or together, in crowd, or — in short, 

You must love me — because I love you! 



AUTUMN FLOWERS. 37 



ABJURATION. 



There was a time — sweet time of youthful folly I 
Fantastic woes I courted, feigned distress, 

Wooing the veiled phantom Melancholy 
With passion, born, like Love, ' in idleness.' 

And like a lover — like a jealous lover — 

I hid mine idol with a miser's art, 
Lest vulgar eyes her sweetness should discover, 

Close in the inmost chambers of mine heart. 

And then I sought her — oft in secret sought her, 
From merry mates withdrawn and mirthful play, 

To wear away, by some deep stilly water. 
In greenwood haunt, the livelong summer day ; 

Watching the flitting clouds, the fading flowers. 
The flying rack athwart the waving grass ; 

And murmuring oft, ' alack ! this life of ours ! 
Such are its joys ; so swiftly doth it pass ! ' 



33 AUTUMN FLOWERS. 

And then mine idle tears, (ah, silly maiden I) 
Bedropl the liquid grass like summer rain, 

And si^hs, as from a bosom sorrow-laden, 
Heaved the liglit heart that knew no real pain. 

And then I loved to haunt lone burial-places. 
To pace the churchyard earth with noiseless tread, 

To pore in new-made graves for ghastly traces — 
Brown crumliling bones of the forgotten dead ; 

To think of passing bells, of death and dying ; 

'T were good, methought, in early youth to die, 
So loved! lamented! in such sweet sleep lying, 

The white shroud all with flowers and rosemary 

Stuck o'er by loving hands! But then, 'twould 
grieve me 

Too sore, forsooth ! the scene my fancy drew ; 
I could not bear the thought to die and leave ye, 

And I have lived, dear friends ! to weep fox you. 



AUTUMN FLOWERS. 39 

And I have lived to prove what ' fading flowers ' 
And life's best joys, and all we love and prize — 

What chilling rains succeed the summer showers ! 
What bitter props wrung slow from elder eyes ! 

And I have lived to look on ' death and dying,' 
To count the sinking pulse, the shortening breath, 

To watch the last faint life-streak flying — flying, 
To stoop, to start ! to be alone with death ! 

And I have lived to feign the smile of gladness, 
When all within was cheerless, dark, and cold, 

When all earth's joy seemed mockery and madness, 
And life more tedious than ' a tale twice told.' 

And now — and now — pale, pining Melancholy I 
No longer veiled for m,e your haggard brow 

In pensive sweetness, such as youthful folly 
Fondly conceited ; I abjure ye now ! 

Away I avaunt ! No longer now I call ye, 
' Divinest Melancholy ! mild, meek maid I ' 



40 AUTUMX FLOWERS. 

No longer may your siren spells inthrall me, 
A willing captive in your baleful shade. 

* Give me the voice of mirth, the sound of laughter, 
The sparkling glance of pleasure's roving eye! 

Tlie past is past; avaunt, thou dark hereafter! 
Come, eat and drhik ; tomorrow we must die ! ' 

So in his desperate mood the fool hath spoken — 
The fool whose heart hath said ' there is no God.' 

But for the stricken soul — the spirit broken — 
There 's balm in Gilead still : the very rod, 

If we but kiss it as the stroke descendeth, 
Distilleth oil to allay the inflicted smart. 

And ' peace that passeth understanding' blendeth 
With the deep sighing of tlie contrite heart. 

Mine be that holy, humble tribulation, 
No longer ' feigned distress, fantastic woe ; ' 

I know my griefs ; but then my consolation, 
My trust, and my immortal hopes I know. 



AUTUMN FLOWEES. 41 



TO A DYING INFANT. 

Sleep, little baby ! sleep ! 

Not in thy cradle bed, 
Not on thy mother's breast 
Henceforth shall be thy rest, 

But with the quiet dead. 

Yes, with the quiet dead. 
Baby ! thy rest shall be. 

O ! many a weary wight, 

Weary of life and light. 

Would fain lie down Avith thee ! 

Flee, little tender nursling ! 

Flee to thy grassy nest j 
There the first flowers shall blow, 
The first pure flakes of snow 

Shall fall upon thy breast. 
4 



AUTUMN FLOWERS. 

Peace! peace! the little L/osom 

Labors with shortening breath. 
Peace ! peace ! that tremulous sigh 
Speaks his departure nigh ; 

Tliose are the damps of death. 

I 've seen thee in thy beauty, 
A thing all health and glee ; 

But never, then, wert thou 

So beautit'ul as now, 

Baby I ihou seemest to me — 

Thine upturned eyes glazed over. 
Like harebells wet with dew, 

Already veiled and hid 

By the convulsed lid, 

Their pupils darkly blue ; 

Thy little mouth half open. 
The soft lip quivering, 
As if, like summer air. 



AUTUMN FL0WER8. 43 

Ruffling the rose leaves, there 
Thy soul were fluttering. 

Mount up, immortal essence ! 

Young spirit ! hence — depart ! 
And is this death ? Dread thing ! 
If such thy A'isiling, 

Plow beautiful thou art ! 

O, I could gaze forever 

Upon that waxen face, 
So passionless 1 so pure 1 
The little shrine was sure 

An angel's dwelling-place. 

Thou weepest, childless mother! 

Ay, weep ; 't will ease thine heart : 
He was thy first-born son — 
Thy first, thine only one ; 

'Tis hard from him to part. 



44 AUTUMN FLOWERS. 

'T is hard to lay thy darling 
' Deep in the damp cold earth, 

His empty crib to see, 
His silent nursery, 

Late singing- with his mirth : 

To meet again in slumber 

His small mouth's rosy kiss, 
Then — wakened with a start 
By thine own throbbing heart — 
His twining arms to miss : 

And then to lie and weep, 

And think the live-long night, 
(Feeling thine own distress 
With accurate greediness,) 
Of every past delight ; 

Of all his -winning ways. 

His pretty playful smiles, 
His joy at sight of thee, 



AUTUMN FLOWERS. 45 

His tricks, his mimickry, 
And all his liule wiles. 

O ! these are recollections 

Round mothers' hearts that cling! 
That mingle with the tears 
And smiles of after years, 

With oft awakening. 

But thou wilt then, fond mother, 

In after years look back, 
(Time brings such wondrous easing,) 
With sadness and unpleasing, 

Even on this gloomy track. 

Thou 'h say, ' my first-born blessing ! 

It almost broke my heart, 
When thou wert forced to go, 
And yet, for thee, I know 

'T was better to depart. 



AUTUMN FLOWERS. 

' God took thee in his mercy, 
A lamb untasked, untried ; 

He fought the fight for thee, 

He won the victory, 

And thou art sanctified. 

' I look around, and see 
The evil ways of men, 

And O, beloved child ! 

I 'm more than reconciled 
To thy departure then. 

' The little arms that clasped me, 
The innocent lips that prest. 
Would they have been as pure 
Till now, as when of yore 

I lulled thee on my breast ? 

' Now, like a dew-drop shrined 

Within a crystal stone, 
Thou 'rt safe in heaven, my dove I 



AUTUMX FLOWERS. 47 

Safe with the Source of love, 
The everlasting One! 

And when the hour arrives, 

From flesh that sets me free. 

Thy spirit may await 

Thee first at heaven's gate. 
To meet and welcome me.' 



SUNDAY EVENING. 

I SAT last Sunday evening, 
From sunset even till night. 

At the open casement, watching 
The day-s departed light. 

Such hours to me are holy, 
Holier then tongue can tell, 

They fall on my heart like dew- 
On the parched heather-bell. 



48 AUTUMN FLOWERS. 

The sun had shone bright all day ; 

His selling was brighter still ; 
But there sprang up a lovely air 

As he dropped the western hill. 

The fields and lanes were swarming 
With holyday folks in their best, 

Released from their six days' cares 
By the seventh day's peace and rest. 

I heard the light-hearted laugh, 
The trampling of many feet ; 

I saw them go merrily by, 
And to me the sight was sweet. 

There 's a sacred soothing sweetness, 
A pervading spirit of bliss, 

Peculiar from all other limes. 
In a Sabbath eve like this. 

Methinks, though I knew not the day. 
Nor beheld those glad faces, yet aJl 



AUTUMN FLOWERS. 49 

Would tell me that Nature was keeping 
Some solemn festival. 

The steer and the steed in their pastures 
Lie down with a look of peace, 

As if they knew 't was commanded 
That this day their labor should cease. 

The lark's vesper song is more thrilling 
As he mounts to bid heaven good night ; 

The brook sings a quieter tune, 
The sun sets in livelier light : 

The grass, the green leaves, and the flowers, 
Are tinged with more exquisite hues ; 

More odorous incense from out them 
Steams up with the evening dews. 

So I sat last Sunday evening 

Musing on all these things, 
With that quiet gladness of spirit 

No thought of this world brings : 



50 AUTUMN FLOWERS. 

I watched the departing glory, 
Till its last red streak grew pale, 

And earth and heaven were ■woven 
In twilight's dusky veil. 

Then the lark dropped down to his mate 
By her nest on the dewy ground ; 

And the stir of human life 

Died away to a distant sound : 

All sounds died away — the light laugh, 
The far footstep, the merry call ; 

To such stillness t!ie pulse of one's heart 
Might have echoed a rose leafs fall ; 

And, by little and little, the darkness 
Waved wider its sable wings. 

Till the nearest objects and largest 
Became shapeless, confused things ; 

And, at last, all was dark ; then I felt 
A cold sadness steal over my heart ; 



AUTUMN FLOWERS. 51 

And I said to myself, ' such is life ! 
So its hopes and its pleasures depart ! 

• And when night conies — the dark night, 

What remaineth beneath the sun 
Of all that was lovely and loved? 
Of all we have learned and done? 

' When the eye waxeth dim, and the ear 
To s^veet music grows dull and cold. 
And the fancy burns low, and the heart — 
O, heavens', can the heart grow old? 

' Then what remaineth of life 

But the lees, with bitterness fraught? 
What then ? ' — but I checked as it rose, 
And rebuked that weak, wicked thought. 

And I lifted mine eyes up, and lo ! 

An answer was written on high 
By the finger of God himselt^. 

In the depths of the dark blue sky. 



AtTTUMN FLOWERS. 

There appeared a sign in the east ; 

A bright, beautiful, fixed star ! 
And I looked on its steady light 

Till the evil thoughts fled afar ; 

And the lesser lights of heaven 
Shone out wiih their pale soft rays, 

Like the calm unearthly comforts 
Of a good man's latter days ; 

And there came up a sweet perfume 
From the unseen flowers below, 

Like the savor of virtuous deeds. 
Of deeds done long ago ; 

Like the memory of well-spent time. 
Of things that were holy and dear ; 

Of friends ' departed this life 
In the Lord's faith and fear.' 

So the burden of darkness was taken 
From my soul, and my heart felt light ; 



AUTUMN FLOWERS. 53 

And I laid rae down to slumber 
With peaceful thoughts that night. 



LITTLE LEONARDS LAST 'GOOD 
NIGHT.' 

' Good night ! good night ! I go to sleep,' * 

Murmured the little child ; 
And O ! the ray of heaven that broke 
On the sweet lips that faintly spoke 
That soft ' good night,' and smiled ! 

That angel smile ! that loving look 

From the dim closing eyes ! 
The peace of that pure brow ! But there, 
Ay, on that brow, so young ! so fair ! 

An awful shadow lies ! 

* The real exclamation of a child, as he died. 



AUTUMN FLOWERS. 

The gloom of evening — of the boughs 

That o'er yon window %vave — 
Nay, nay — within these silent walls, 
A deeper, darker shadow, falls, 
The twilight of the grave — 

Tlie twilight of the grave ; for still 

Fast comes the fluttering breath ; 

One fading smile, one look of love, 

A murmur, as from brooding dove, 

' Good-night ' — and this is death ! 

O I Avho hath called thee ' terrible ! ' 

Mild angel I most benign ! 
Could mother's fondest lullaby 
Have laid to rest more blissfully, 

That sleeping babe, than thine ! 

Yet this is death — the doom for all 

Of Adam's race decreed ; 
But this poor lamb ! this little one ! 



AUTUMN FLOWERS. 55 

AVhat had the guiUless creature done?' 
Unhappy heart! take heed ! 

Though He is merciful as just 

Who hears that fond appeal, 
He will not break the bruised reed, 
He will not search the wounds that bleed 

He only wounds to heal. 

■ Let little children come to me,' 

He cried, and to his breast 
Folded them tenderly ; today 
He calls thine unshorn lamb away 

To that securest rest ! 



56 AUTUMN FLOWERS. 



A FAIR PLACE AND PLEASANT. 

A FA.IR place and pleasant, this same world of ours! 
Who says there are serpents 'mong- all the sweet 

flowers ? 
Who says every blossom we pluck has its thorn? 
Pho ! pho I laugh those musty old sayings to scorn. 

If you roam to the tropics for flowers rich and rare, 
No doubt there are serpents, and deadly ones, there ; 
If none but the rose will content ye, 't is true 
Ye may get sundry scratches, and ugly ones too. 

But pr'y thee look there ; could a serpent find room 
In that close-woven moss, where those violets 

bloom ? 
And reach me that woodbine, (you "11 get it with 

ease ;) 
Now, wiseacre ! where are the thorns, if you please.' 



AUTUMN FLOWERS. 07 

I say there are angels in every spot, 
Though our dim earthly vision discerneth them not; 
Tliat they 're guardians assigned to the least of us all, 
By Him who takes note if a sparrow but fall ; 

That they 're aye flitting near us, around us, above, 
On missions of kindness, compassion, and love ; 
That they 're giad when we 're happy, disturbed at 

our tears. 
Distressed at our weaknesses, failings, and fears:; 

That they care for the least of our innocent joys. 
Though we 're cozened like children with trifles 

and toys, 
And can lead us to bloom-beds, and lovely ones too. 
Where snake never harbored, and thorn nevergrew. 



58 AUTUMN FLOWERS. 



THE MARINER'S HYMN. 



Launch lliy bark, mariner! 

Christian, God speed thee ! 
Let loose the rudder bands j 

Good angels lead thee ! 
Set thy sails warily, 

Tempests will come ; 
Steer thy course steadily, 

Christian, steer home! 

Look to the weather-bow, 

Breakers are round thee^ 
Let fall the plummet now. 

Shallows may ground thee. 
Reef in the foresail, there ! 

Hold the helm fast! 
So ; let th« vessel wear ; 

There swept the blast 



AUTUMN FLOWERS. 

* What of the night, watchman? 

What of the night?' 

* Cloudy ; all quiet ; 

No land yet ; all 's right ! ' 
Be wakeful, be vigilant ; 

Danger may be 
At an hour when all seemeth 

Securest to thee. 

How ! gains the leak so fast ? 

Cleairoutthe hold; 
Hoist up thy merchandise, 

Heave out thy gold ; 
There! let the ingots go.-, 

Now the ship rights ; 
Hurra ! the harbor 's near, 

Lo, the red lights ! 

Slacken not sail yet 
At inlet or island ; 
Straight for the beacon steer. 



CO AUTUMN FLOWERS. 

Straight for the high land ; 
Crowd all thy canvass on, 

Cut through the foam ; 
Christian ! cast anchor now, 

Heaven is thy home ! 



THERE IS A TONGUE IN EVERY LEAF. 

There is a tongue in every leaf, 

A voice in every rill ! 
A voice that speaketh everywhere. 
In flood and fire, through earth and air — 

A tongue that 's never still ! 

'T is the Great Spirit, wide diffused 

Through every thing we see, 
That with our spirits communeth 
Of things mysterious — life and death, 

Time and eternity. 



AUTUMN FLOWERS. 61 

I see him in the blazing sun, 

And in the thunder-cloud ; 
I hear him in the mighty roar 
That rushes through the forest hoar 

When winds are piping loud. 

I see him, hear him everj'where, 

In all things — darkness, light, 
Silence, and sound ; but, most of all. 
When slumber's dusky curtains fall, 

At the dead hour of night. 

I feel him in the silent dews 

By grateful earth betrayed ; 
I feel him in the gentle showers. 
The soft south wind — the breath of flowers, 

The sunshine and the shade. 

And yet, ungrateful that I am I 

I 've turned in sullen mood 
From all these things, v/hereof he said, 



62 ATJTUMN FLOWERS. 

When the great work was finished, 
That they were '^ very good ! ' 

My sadness on the fairest things 
Fell like unwholesome Aew', 

The darkness that encompassed me, 

The gloom I felt so palpably, 
Mine own dark spirit threw. 

Yet he was patient, slow to wrath, 

Though everj' day provoked 
By selfish, pining discontent. 
Acceptance cold, or negligent, 
And promises revoked. 

And still the same rich feast w^s spread 

For my insensate heart. 
Not always so — I woke again 
To join creation's rapturous strain ; 

' O I*ord'. how good ihou art \ ' 



AUTUMN FLOWERS. 63 

The clouds drew up, the shadows fled, 

The glorious sun broke out, 
And love, and hope, and gratitude, 
Dispelled that miserable mood 

Of darkness and of doubt. 



THE BROKEN BRIDGE. 

It was a lovely autumn morn. 

So indistinctly bright, 
So many-hued, so misty, clear, 
So blent the glittering atmosphere, 

A web of opal light ! 

The morning mist, from the hill top, 

Sailed oft', (a silvery flake,) 
But still in the under vale it lay, 
AVhere the trees peered out like islands gray, 
Seen dimly, at the dawn of day, 

On a waveless pearly lake. 



S4 AUTUMN FLOWERS. 

And again, when we reached the -woody rise 
That Boldre church doth crown, 

The fihuy shroud was wafted by, 

And, rejoicing: in his victory, 

The dazzling sun looked down. 

We reached the church, a two-mile walk, 

Just as the bell begun ; 
Only the clerk was stationed there, 
And one old man with silver hair. 

Who warmed him in the sun. 

A gravestone for his seat, one hand 

On his old staff leaned he ; 
The other fondly dallied 
With the bright curls of a young head 

That nestled on his knee. 

The child looked up in the old man's face, 

Looked up and laughed the while. 
Methought 't was a beautiful sight to see 



AUTUMN FLOWERS. 65 

The reflected light of its innocent glee, 
(Like a sunbeam on a withered tree,) 
In the old man's quiet smile. 

That simple group well harmonized 

With the surrounding scene — 

The old gray church, with its shadows deep, 

t 
Where the dead seemed hush'd in sounder sleep ; 

And all beyond, Avhere the sun shone bright, 

Touching the tombstones with golden light, 

And the graves with emerald green. 

And a redbreast from the elms hard by 

His joyous matins sung ; 
That music wild contrasted well 
With the measured sound of the old church-bell, 

In the low square tower that swung. 

I looked, and listened, and listened still, 

But word spake never a one ; 
And I started like one awakened 



3 AUTUMN FLOWERS. 

From a trance, when my young companion saij I 
' Let 's walk till the bell has done.' 

So we turned away by the shady path 

That winds down the pleasant hill ; 
Leaving the churchyard to the right 
High upj it brought us soon in sight 
Of the clear spring, so sparkling Bright, 
That turns old Hayward mill. 

A lovely scene ! but not therefore 

Young Edmund's choice, I doubt ; 

No, rather that with barbed snare 

For sport he oft inveigled there 
The perch and speckled trout. 

Stopped was the busy mill-wheel now, 

Snareless the rippling brook, 
And up the finny people leaped, 
As if they knew that danger slept ; 
And Edmund I he had wellnigh wept 

For lack of line and hook. 



AUTUMN FLOWERS. 67 

' Look, what a fish! the same, I '11 swear, 

That I hooked yesterday. 
He 's a foot long from head to tail ; 
The fellow tugged like any whale, 
And broke my line ; it 's very true, 
Though you laugh, miss ! you always do 

At every thing I say.' 

' Nay, gentle coz I I did but smile ; 

But — was he a foot long? ' 
' Ay, more, a foot and half, near two ; 
There, there, there 's no convincing yoUy 
One might as well to an old shoe 

Go whistle an old song.' 

' Gramercy, coz ! I only asked, 

In admiration strong.' 
' Ax, but you look at one so queer; 
O I that I had my tackle here, 
You should soon see ; well, never fear, 

I '11 have him yet ere long.' 



AUTUMN FLOWERS. 

' Ay, doubtless ; but, dear Edmund ! now 

Be murderous thoughts far lience. 
This is a day of peace and rest, 
And should diffuse in every breast 
Its holy influence.' 

Such desultory chat we held, 

Still idly sauntering on 
Toward the old crazy bridge, that led 
Across the stream by the mill-head — 

' Heyday ! ' said I, ' 't is gone 1 ' 

And gone it was, but planks and piles 

Lay there, a fresh-brought load, 
And, till a better bridge was made, 
Flat stones across the brook were laid, 
So one might pass dryshod. 

One with firm foot and steady eye, 
Dryshod might pass the brook ; 
But now, upon the further side, 



AUTUMN FLOWERS. 69 

A woman and a child we spied, 
And those slippery stones the woman eyed 
With vexed and angry look. 

And the child stood there — a pretty boy, 

Some seven years old looked he, 
Limber and lithe as a little fawn. 
And I marveled much that he sprung not on 
With a boy's activity. 

But his head hung down like a dew-bent flower, 

And he stood there helplessly ; 
And the woman, (an old ill-favored crone ! ) 
Scowled at him, and said, in a sharp, cross tone, 

' You 're always a plague to me ! ' 

* What ails you, my little man? ' said I ; 

' Such a light, free thing as you 
Should bound away, like a nimble deer, 
From stone to stone, and be over here 

Before one could well count two.' 



70 AUTUMN FLOWERS. 

The child looked up. To ray dying day 

That look will haunt my mind. 
The woman looked too, and she tuned her throat, 
As she answered me, to a softer note, 

And says she, ' the poor thing 's blind. 

* His father, (who 's dead,) was ray sister's son ; 

Last week his mother died too. 
He 's but a weakly thing, you see, 
Yet the parish has put him upon me, 

Who am l)ut ill to do. 

'And his raolher made him more helpless still 

Than else he might have been, 
For she nursed him up like a little lamb, 
That in winter's time has lost its dam ! 

Such love was never seen ! 

* To be sure he was her onl)"- one, 

A helpless thing you see ; 
So she toiled and toiled to get him bread, 



AUTUMN FLOWERS. 71 

And to keep him neat, 'twas her pride, she said. 
Well, 't is a hard thing, now she 's dead, 
To have him thrown on me. 

* And now we shall be too late for church, 

For he can't get over, not he ; 
I thought the old bridge did well enough, 
But they 're always at some altering stuff, 

Hindering poor folks like we.' 

I looked about, but from my side 

Edmund was gone already. 
And, with the child clasped carefully, 
Across the stream, back bounded he^ 

With firm foot, light and steady. 

And the woman,' said I, ' won't yon help hex too ? 
Look, there she waits the while.' 
' Hang her, old cat! if I do,' quoth he, 
'' To souse her into the midst 't will bel^ 
For my life I could not but smile- 



72 AUTUMN FLOWERS. 

So we left her to cross as best she might, 

And I turned to the sightless child ; 
His old white hat was wound about 
With a rusty crape, and fair curls waved out 
On a brow divinely mild. 

And the tears still swam in his large blue eyes, 

And hung on his sickly cheek — 
Those eyes with their clouded vacancy. 
That looked toward^ but not at me, 
Yet spoke to my heart more touchingly 
Than the brightest could ever speak. 

I took his little hand in mine, 

('T was a delicate, small hand,) 

And the poor thing soon crept close to me, 

With a timid familiarity, 

No heart could e'er withstand. 

By this time the woman had hobbled up ; 
' Ah, Goody ! what, safe ashore ? ' 



AUTUMN FLOWEBS. 73 

Quoth Edmund ; ' I knew without help from me 
You 'd paddle across.' Askance looked she, 
But spake not a word ; so in company 
We moved on to church, all tour. 

But I felt ihe child's hand, still held in mine, 
With a shrinking dread compressed ; 

« Do you love to go to church ? • I said ; 

' Yes,' and he hung down his little head, 
' But I love the churchyard best.' 

' The churchyard, my pretty boy ! And why ? 

Come tell me why, and how? ' 
' Because — because — ' and the poor thing 
Sobbed out the words half whispering, 

' 'Cause mammy is there now.' 

Feelings too deep for utterance 

Thrilled me a moment's space ; 
At last, ' my little friend,' said I, 
' She 's gone to live with God on high. 
In heaven, his dwelling-place. 
6 



74 AUTUMN FLOWERS. 

' And if you 're good, and pray to Him, 

And tell the tratU alway, 
And bear all hardships patiently, 
You '11 go there too.' ' But when ? ' said he, 

' Shall 1 go there today? ' 

' Nay, you must wait till God is pleased 

To call you to his rest.' 
' When Avill that be ? ' he asked again. 
' Perhaps not yet, my child.' ' O I then, 

I love the churchyard best.' 

And to the churchyard we were come, 

And close to the church door ; 
And the little hand I held in mine, 
Still held, loath was I lo resign ; 
And from that hour the face so mild, 
And the soft voice of that orphan child. 
Have haunted me evermore. 



AUTUMN FLOWERS. 



THE MOTHER'S LAMENT. 

My child was beautiful and brave I 
An opening flower of spring ! 

He moulders in a distant grave, 
A cold forgotten thing. 

Forgotten I — Ay, by all but me, 

As e'en the best beloved must be. 
Farewell, farewell, my dearest! 

Melhinks 't had been a comfort now 
To have caught his parting breath ; 

Had I been near, from his damp brow, 
To wipe the dews of death ; 

With one long, lingering kiss to close 

His eyelids for the last repose. 

Farewell, farewell, my dearest! 

I little thought such wish to prove, 
When, cradled on my breast. 



76 AUTUMN FLOWERS. 

With all a mother's cautious love 

His sleeping lids I pressed. 
Alas, alas I his dying head 
Was pillowed on a colder bed. 

Farewell, farewell, my dearest! 

They told rae victory's laurels wreathed 

His youthful temples round, 
That ' victory ! ' from his lips was breathed, 

The last exulting sound — 
Cold comfort to a mother's ear, 
That longed his living voice to hear. 
Farewell, farewell, my dearest i 

E'en so thy gallant father died. 
When thou, poor orphan child ! 

A helpless prattler at my side. 
My widowed grief beguiled. 

But now, bereaved of all in thee. 

What earihly voice shall comfort me ? 
Farewell, farewell, my dearest! 



ABTUMN FLOWERS. 77 



'IT IS NOT DEATH.' 

It is not Death — it is not Death, 

From which I shrink with coward fear ; 
It is, that I must leave behind 

All I love here. 

It is not Wealth — it is not Wealth, 

That I am loth to leave behind ; 
Small store to me, (yet all I crave,) 
Haih fate assigned. 

It is not Fame — it is not Fame, 

From which it will be pain to part ; 
Obscure my lot ; but mine was still 
An humble heart. 

It is not Health — it is not Health, 

That makes me fain to linger here ; 
For I have languished on in pain 
This many a year. 



ATJTtTMN FLOWERS. 

It is not Hope — it is not Hope, 

From which I cannot turn away ; 
O! earthly Hope has cheated me 

This many a day. 

But there are Friends — but there are Friends 

To whom I could not say, ' Farewell I' 
Without a pang more hard to bear 

Than tongue can tell. 

But there 's a thought — but there 's a thought, 

Will arm me with that pang to cope ; 
Thank Godl we shall not part like those 
Who have no hope. 

And some are gone — and some are gone — 

Methinks they chide my long delay — 
With whom, it seemed, my very life 
Went half away. 

Bui we shall meet — but we shall meet, 
Where parting tears shall never flow ; 



AUTUMN FLOWERS. 

And, when I think thereon, almost 
I long to go. 

The Savior wept — the Savior wept 

O'er him he loved — corrupting clay! 
But then. He spake the word, and Death 
Gave up his prey! 

A little while — a little while, 

And the dark Grave shall yield its trust ; 
Yea, render every atom up 

Of human dust. 

What matters then — what matters then 

Who earliest lays him down to rest? 
Nay, ' to depart, and be with Christ,' 
Is surely best. 



80 AUTUMN FLOWERS. 



ON THE NEAR PPvOSPECT OF LEAVING 
HOME. 1838. 

Farewell I f:irewell, beloved home ! 

Haven of rest ! a long- farewell ; 
Where'er my weary foolsieps roam, 

With thee shall faithful memory dwell. 

They tell me other bowers will rise 

As fair, in fancy's future view ; 
They little think what tender ties 

Dear home I attach my heart to you ! 

Their happy childhood has not played, 
Like mine, beneath thy sheltering roof ; 

Thou hast not fostered, in thy shade, 
Their after years of happier youth. 

They cannot know, they have not proved 
The sympathies that make thee dear ; 



AUTUMN FLOWERS. 81 

They have not here possessed and loved : 
They have not lost and sorrowed. 

In all around, they cannot see 

Relics of hopes, and joys o'ercast ; 

They have not learned to live, like me, 
On recollections of the past. 

To watch, (as misers watch their gold,) 

Tree, shnib, or flower, (frail, precious trust:, 

Planted and reared ia days of old. 
By hands now mouldering in the dust ; 

To sanctify peculiar places. 

Associated in memory's glass, 
With circumstances, times, and faces, 

That like a dream before me pass. 

These are the feelings, this the band, 
Dear home ! that knits my heart to thee ; 

No heart but mine can understand 
How strong that secret sympathy. 



82 AUTUMN FLOWERS. 



THE LADYE'S BRYDALLE. 

' Come hither, come hither, my little foot-page I 

And beare to my gaye Ladye 
This ringe of the good red gowde, and be sure 

Rede well what she tellethe to thee. 

' And take tent, little Page, if my Ladye's cheeke 

Be with watchinge and weepinge pale ; 
If her locks are unkempt, and her bonnie eyes redde; 

And come backc and telle me ihye tale. j 

■ 
' And marke, little Page, when thou showest the 
ringe, 

If she snatchethe it hastelye, 
If the red blude mount up her slendere throate 

To her forehedde of ivorye. 

' And take good heede if, for gladness or griefe, 
She chaungethe my Ladye's cheere, 



AUTUMN FLOWERS. 83 

You shalle know by her eyes, if their lichte laugh 
oute 
Through the miste of a startlinge teare. 

'(Like the Summer sunne thro' amorninge cloude,) 

There needethe no furlhere tokenne, 
That mye Ladye brighte, to her owne true Knighte, 

Hath keepit her faithe unbrokenne. 

' Now ride, little Page ! for the sunne peeres oute 
Owre the rimme of the eastern heavenne, 

And backe thou must bee, with thy tidinges to mee, 
Ere the shadow falles far at evenne.' 

Awaye, and awaye ! and he 's farre on his waye, 

The little foot-page alreddye ; 
For he 's backed on his Lordes own gallante graye, 

That steede so swift and steddye. 

Bat the Knighte stands there like a charmedde 
manne. 



»4 AUTUMN FLOWERS. 

Watchinge with eare and eye, 
The clalteringe speede of his noble steede, 
That swifte as the wiiides doth flye. 

But the windes and the lichtninges are loitererres 
alle 
To the glaunce of a luver's mynde, 
And Sir Alwynne, ] trow, had thocht Bonnybelle 
slowe, 
Had her fleelnesse oiitstrippit the winde. 

Beseemed to him, that the sunne once more 

Had stayedde his course that daye ; 
Never sicke manne longed for morninge licht, 

As Sir Alwynne for eveninge graye. 

But the longeste daye must ende at laste, 
And the brighteste sunne must sette ; 

Where stayde Sir Alwynne at peepe of dawne, 
There at even he stayethe him yette. 



AUTUMN FLOWERS. 85 

And he spyethe at laste — ' Not soe, not soe, 
'T is a small graye cloude, Sir Kiiigltte, 

That risethe up like a courser's hedde 
On that borderre of gowden licht.' 

' Bot harke I Bot harke I tor I heare it nowe, 

'Tis the comyiige of Bonnybelle I' 
' Not soe, Sir Knighte I from that rockye height, 

'T was a clatleringe stone that felle.' 

' That sloth fulle boye I but I "11 think no mo're 
Of him and that lagginge jade to-daye.' 

' Righto, righte. Sir Kiiighiel' ' Nay, now by this 
lichte. 
Here cometh my Page and my gallante graye ! 

' Howe nowe, little Page I ere thou lichtest downe, 

Speake but one worde out hastylye ; 
Little Page ! haste thou seen mye Ladye luve ? 

Hathe mye Ladye keepit her faiihe with me ?' 



»G AUTUMN FLOWERS. 

' I've scene thye Ladye luve, Sir Kuighte, 
And welle hatha she keepit her faiihe with thee.' 

' Lichte downe, lichie dovvne, mye trustye Page I 
A berrye browne barbe shall thy guerdon be. 

' Telle on, telle on : was mye Ladye's clieeke 

Pale as the lilye, or rosye redde? 
Did she put the ringe on her finger smalle? 

And what was the very firste worde she sedde ? ' 

' Pale was thye Ladye's cheeke, Sir Kuighte, 
Blent with no streake of the rosye redde ; 

I put the ringe on her finger smalle, 
Bui there is no voice amongste the dedde.' 



There are torches hurryinge to and froe 

la Raebunie Towerre to-nighie ; 
And the chapelle dolhe glowe with larnpes alsoe, 

As if for a bry dalle ryte. 



ATJTUMN FLOWERS. 87 

But where is the Bryde ? and the Brydegroome 
wliere ? 

And where is the holye Prieste ? 
And where are the guestes that shoulde biddenne be, 

To partake of the marriage feast? 

The Bryde from her chamberre descendethe slowe, 
And the Brydegroome her hande hath ta'en ; 

And the guestes are mette, and ihe holy Prieste 
Precedethe the marriage traine. 

The Bryde is the fayre Maude Winstanlye, 

And Dethe her stern Brydegroome ; 
And her father foUowes his onlye childe 

To her mothere's yawninge tombe. 

An agedde manne ! and a wofulle manne ! 

And a heavye moane makes he ; 
' Mye childe ! mye childe ! mine onlye childe ! 

Would God I had dyedde for thee ! ' 



Hb AUTDMN FLOWERS. 

An ag-edde manne, those white haires telle, 
And that bendedde back and knee ; 

Yette a stalwart K;iighte, at Tewkesburye fighte, 
Was Sir Archibalde Winstanlye ! 

'Tis a movinge thinge to see the teares 

Wruiige oute frae an agedde eye, 
Seldome and slowe, like the scantye droppes 

Of a founlaine that "s neere a drye. 

'T is a sorrye sighte to see graye haires 
Brocht downe to the grave wiili sorro^ve! 

Youth lakes thro' the cloude ot" the presente daye 
For a goldonne gleame to-morrowe. 

But the palsyedde hedde, and the feeble knees, 
Berefte of earihlye staye I . . . . 

God help thee nowe, old Winstanlye ! 
Gude Christians for thee praye ! 

Bot manye a voice in that burialle traiae 
Breathes gloomily aparte, 



AUTUMN FLOWERS. 83 

* Thou hadst not been childeless nowe, olde manne, 
But for thine owne harde hearte! ' 

And many a mayde, who strewethe floweres 

Afore the Ladye's biere, 
Weepes oute, ' Thou hadst not dyede, sweet Maude, 

If Al Wynne had beene heere ! ' 



What solemne chaunte ascendeth slowe ? 

What voices peale the straine ? 
The Monkes of St. Switholm's Abbaye neare 

Have mette the funeralle traine. 

They hold their landes, full manye a roode, 
From the Knightes of Raeburne Towerre ; 

And everre when Dethe doth claime his preye 
From within that lordlye bowerre, 

Then come the holye Falheris forthe, 
The shrowdedde corse to meete, 
7 



91) ATJTrMN FLOWERS. 

And see it laide in hallowede grave, 
With requiem sadde and sweete. 

And nowe they turne, and leade the waye 

To that laste home so nigh, 
Where alle the race of Winstaiilye 

In dust and darkness lye. 

The holye altarre blazethe brighte 

With waxen taperres high ; 
Elsewhere, in dimme and doubtfulle lycht 

Dothe alle the chapelle Ij'e. 

Huge, undefinedd« shadowes falle 
From pillare and l>om tombe ; 

And manye a grimme olde monumente 
Lookes ghastelye through the gloome. 

And many a rustye shirt of raaile 
The eye maye scantlye trace ; 

And crestedde helmette, blacke and barred, 
That grinnes with sterne grimace. 



AUTUMN FLOWERS. 

Bannerre and scutcheon from the walles 

Wave in the cald nighte aire ; 
Gleames oute their gorgeous heraldrye 

In the entering torches' glare. 

For nowe the mourninge companye, 

Beneathe that archedde doore, 
Beare in the lovelye, lifelesse claye, 

Shall passe thereoute no more ; 

And up the soundinge aisle ye stille 
Their solemne chaunte may heare ; 

Tille 'nealh that blazonned catafalque 
They gentlye reste the biere : 

Then ceasethe everye sounde of life ; 

So deepe that awfuUe hushe, 
Ye heare from yon freshe-opennedde vaulte 

The hollovve deathe-winde rushe, 

Backe from the biere the mournerres all 
Retire a little space ; 



92 AUTUMN FLOWERS. 

Alle bot that olde bereavedde manne, 
Who takelhe there his place 

Beside the dedde : but none may se\ 
The workinges of his mynde ; 

So lowe upon that sunkenne breste 
Is that grave hedde declin'de. 



The masse is saide, they raise the dedde, 

The palle is flunge aside ; 
And soone that coffinned lovelyenesse 

The darksome pit shalle hide. 

It gapeth close at hande. Deep downe 

Ye may the coffinnes see, 
(By the lampe's dull glare, freshe kindledde there) 

Of many a Winstanlye. 

And the gildedde nails on one looke brighte. 
And the velvette of craraoisie ; 



i 



AUTUMN FLOWERS. 93 

She hathe not laine there a calenderre yeere, 
Tlie laste Dame Winstanlye. 

* There 's roome for thee heere, O daughter deere !' 

Methinkes I heare her saye ; 
' There 's roome for thee, Maude Winstanlye ; 

Come down, make no delaye ! ' 

And, from the vauhe, t^vo grimlye armes 
Upraised, demaunde the dedde! . . . 

Hark ! hark I 't is the tramp of a rushinge steeds ! 
"Tis the clanke of an armedde tredde ! 

There 's an armedde hedde at the chapelle doore ; 

And in armoure all bedighte 
In coal-block Steele, from hedde to heele, 

In Steppes an armedde Kniglue ! 

And uppe the aisle, with heavy tredde, 

Alone advauncelhe he ; 
To barre his waye, dothe none essaye 

Of the fun'ralle companye. 



94 AUTUMN FLOWERS. 

And never a voice amongst them alle 

Doth aske who he mole be ; 
Nor why his armedde steppe disturbes 

That sadde solemnitye. 

Yette manye an eye, with fixedde stare, 
Dothe sternelye on him frowne ; 

But none may trace the stranger's face — 
He weares his vizorre downe. 

He speakes no worde, but waves liis hande. 

And straighte theye alle obeye ; 
And ev'rye soule ihat standethe there, 

Falles backe to make him waye. 

He passethe on ; no hande dothe stirre ; 

His steppe the onlye sounde ; 
He passethe on, and signes them sette 

The coffinne on the grounde. 

A momente gazinge downe thereonne, 
With foldedde armes dothe staye ; 



AUTUMN FLOWERS. 

Then stooppinge, with one mighlye wrench 
He teares the lidde awaye. 

Then risethe a confusedde sounde, 
And some half forwarde starie, 

And murmurre ' sacriledge I ' And some 
Beare hastilye aparte, 

The agedde Knighte, at that strange sighte 
Whose consciousnesse hathe fledde ; 

Bot signe, nor sounde disturbethe him 
Who gazethe on the dedde. 

And seemethe sune, as that faire face 

Dothe alle exposedde lye, 
As if its holye calme o'erspredde 

The frowninge faces bye. 

And nowe, beside the virgiime corse 
Downe kneeles the slraunger Knighte, 

And backe his vizorrede helme he throwes, 
Bot not in openne sighte ; 



96 AUTUMN FLOWEKS. 

For to the pale, colde clammy face, 

His owne he stoopelhe lowe. 
And kissethe firste the bludelesse cheeke, 

And then the marble browe. 

Then, to the dedde lippes gluede, so long 

The livinge lippes do stay, 
As if in that sadde silente kisse 

The soule had paste awaye. 

Bat suddenne, from that mortal trance, 

As with a desp'rate straine, 
Up ! up ! he springes — his armoure ringes — 

His vizorre's downe againe. 

With many a flourre, her weepinge maydea 
The Ladye's shroude have dressed ; 

And one white rose is in the faulde 
That veiles her whiterre breste. 

One gowden ringlette on her browe 
(Escapedde forthe) do the straye ; 



AUTUMN FLOWERS. 

So on a wreathe of driftedde snowe 
The wintrye sunbeames playe. 

The mailedde hande hath ta'en the rose 
From offe that breste so fayre ; 

The faulchion's edge, from that pale hedde, 
Hath shorne that gowden haire. 

One heavye sigh I — the first and last — 
One deepe and stifledde groane! 

A few longe strides, a clange of hoofes, 
And the arraedde stranirer 's gone ! 




98 AUTUMN FLOWERS. 



SONNET. 1S18. 



Dark rolling clouds, in ■wild confusion driven, 
Obscure the full orbed moon. In all the heaven 
One only star, (the appointed evening light,) 
Beams mildly forih ; like friendly Pharo bright, 
That, kindled on some towering summit, streams 
Wide o'er the ocean-paths. Its far-ofl' beams 
First seen by him who on the silent deck 
Paces his lonely watch — a glimmering speck, 
Doubtful in distance. But his homeward eye 
Is keen the faithful beacon to descry. 
And mine, like his, impatient to explore, 
(With friends and kindred thronged,) the distant 

shore, 
Is fixed on that lone star, M^liose lovely ray 
Points to a happier home the heavenward way. 



AUTUMN FLOWERS. 



SONNET. 1821. 



Stay, flaming chariot! fiery coursers, stay, 
Soft gleams of setting sunshine, that doth cast 
A lustrous line along the dark wide waste ! 

O I wherefore must ye fade so swift away ? 

Wherefore, O I wherefore, at the close of day 
Shine out so glorious, when night's sable pall 
Will drop arouH'fl so soon, and cover all? 

Beautiful beam I bright traveler I stay, O, stay ! 

And let my spirit on your parting ray 
Glide from this world of error, doubt, distress, 
(Oil am weary of its emptiness,) 

To happier worlds, where there is peace for aye, 

Peace ! less abiding here than Noah's dove ; 

When we shall never part from those we love ! 



^O^ 



AUTUMN FLOWERS. 



GRACIOUS RAIN. 

The cast wind had whistled for many a day, 
Sere and wintry, o'er Summer's domain ; 

And the sun, muffled up in a dull robe of gray, 
Looked sullenly down on the plain. 

The butterfly folded her wings as if dead, 
Or awaked ere the full destined time ; 

Every flower shrank in\vard, or hung down its head 
Like a young heart frost-nipped in its prime. 

I, too, shrank and shivered, and eyed the cold eartli. 
The cold heaven with comfortless looks ; 

And I listened in vain for the summer bird-s mirth, 
And the music of rain-plenished brooks. 

But, lo ! Avhile I listened, down heavily dropped 
A few tears from a low-sailing cloud ; 



AUTUMN FLOWERS. 101 

Large and few they descended, then thickened, then 
stopped, 
Then poured down abundant and loud. 

O, the rapture of beauty, of sweetness, of sound. 

That succeeded that soft gracious rain ! 
With laughter and singing the valleys rang round, 

And the little hills shouted again. 

The wind sank away like a sleeping child's breath. 

The pavilion of clouds was upfurled ; 
And the sun, like a spirit triumphant o'er death, 

Smiled out on this beautiful world. 

On this ' beautiful world,^ such a change had been 
wrought 
By these few blessed drops. O I the same 
On some cold stony heart might be worked too, 
melhought 
Sunk in guilt, but not senseless of shame. 



102 AUTUMN FLOWERS. 

If a few virtuous tears, by the merciful shed, 
Touched its hardness, perhaps the good grain 

That was sown there and rooted, though Ion", 
seemng dead, 
Might shoot up and flourish again. 

And the smile of the virtuous, like sunshine from 
heaven. 
Might chase the dark clouds of despair ; 
And remorse, when the rock's flinty surface was 
riven. 
Might gush out and soften all there. 

O I to work such a change — by God's grace to 
recall 

A poor soul from the death sleep ! to this ! 
To this joy that the angels partake, what were all 

That the worldly and sensual call bliss ? 



AUTUMN FLOWERS. 103 



THE WELCOME HOME. 1820. 

Hark ! hark ! they 're come ! those merry bells, 
That peal their joyous welcome swells ; 
And many hearts are swelling high, 
With more than joy — with ecstasy! 

And many an eye is straining now 
T'ward that good ship, that sails so slow ; 
And many a look tow^ard the land 
They cast, upon that deck who stand. 

Flow, flow, ye tides I ye languid gales, 
Rise, rise, and fill their flagging sails I 
Ye tedious moments, fly, begone, 
And speed the blissful meeting on. 

Impatient watchers ! happy ye, 
Whose hope shall soon be certainty ; 
Happy, thrice happy ! soon to strain 
Fond hearts to kindred hearts again ! 



104 AUTUMN FLOWERS. 

Brothers and sisters, children, mother — 
All, all restored to one another! 
All, all returned ; and are there none 
To me restored, returned ? Not one. 

Far other meeting mine must be 
With friends long lost ; far other sea 
Than thou, O restless ocean ! flows 
Between us — one that never knows 

Ebb-tide or flood ; a stagnant sea ; 
Time's gulf; its shore, eternity! 
No voyager from that shadowy bourne 
With chart or sounding may return. 

There, there they stand — the loved! the lost! 
They beckon from that awful coast ! 
They cannot thence return to me, 
But I shall go to them. I see 

E'en now, methinks, those forms so dear, 
Bend smiliujr to invite me there. 



AUTUMN FLOWERS. 1U5 

O, best beloved! a little while, 
And I obey that beckoning smile 1 

'T is all my comfort now, to know, 
In God's good time it shall be so ; 
And yet, in that sweet hope's despite, 
Sad thoughts oppress my heart tonight. 

And doth the sight of others' gladness 
Oppress this selfish heart with sadness? 
Now Heaven forbid ! but tears will rise. 
Unbidden, tears into mine eyes, 

When busy thought contrasts with theirs 
My fate, my feelings. Four brief years 
Have winged their flight, since where they stand, 
I stood, and watched that parting band, 

( Then parting hence -,) and one^ methought, 
(O, human foresight I set at nought 

8 



106 AUTUMN FLOWERS. 

By God's unfathomed will !) was borne 
From England, never to return ! 

With saddened heart, I turned to seek 
Mine own beloved home ; to speak 
"With her who shared it, of the fears 
She also shared in ... It appears 

But yesterday that thus we spoke ; 
And I can see the very look 
With which she said, ' I do believe 
Mine eyes have ta'en their last, long leave 

Of her who has gone hence to-day ! ' 
Five months succeeding slipped away; 
And, on the sixth, a deep-toned bell 
Swung slow, of recent death to tell ; 

It tolled for her, with whom so late 
I reasoned of impending fate ; 
To me, those solemn words who spoke 
So late, with that remembered look I 



AUTUMN FLOWERS. 107 

And now, from that same steeple, swells 
A joyous peal of merry bells, 
Her welcome, whose approaching doom 
We blindly thought — a foreign tomb ! 



THE NIGHT-SMELLING STOCK. 

Come, look at this plant, with its narrow pale leaves, 

And its tail, slim, delicate stem. 
Thinly studded with flowers ! Yes, with flowers ! 

There they are ! 
Do n't you see at each joint there 's a little browa 
star? 
But, in truth, there 's no beauty in them. 

So you ask why I keep it ? the little mean thing. 

Why I stick it up here, just in sight ? 
'T is a fancy of mine. * A strange fancy !' you say ^ 



108 AUTUMN FLOWERS. 

' No accounting for tastes I ' In this instance you 
may, 
For the flower .... But I 'II tell you lonig-ht. 

Some six hours hence, when the lady moon 

Looks down on that bastioned wall. 
When the twinkling stars dance silently 
On the rippling surface of the sea, 

And the heavy night-dews fall ; 

Then meet me again in this casement niche, 

On the spot where we 're standing now. 
Nay, question not wherefore. Perhaps, with me. 
To look on the night, and the broad, bright sea, 
And to hear its majestic flow ! 



"Well, we 're met here again ; and the moonlight 
sleeps 
On the sea. and the bastioned wall ; 



AUTUMN FLOWERS. 109 

And the flowers there below ; how the night-wind 

brings 
Their delicious breath on its dewy wings ; 
' But there's one,' say you, ' sweeter than all !' 

' Which is it ? The myrtle, or jessamine, 

Or their sovereign lady, the rose? 
Or the heliotrope ? or the virgin's boAver ? 
What I neither ?' O, no, 't is some other flower, 

Far sweeter than either of those. 

Far sweeter! And where, think you, groweth the 
plant 
That exalleth such perfumes rare? 
Look about, up and down ; but take care or you '11 

break, 
With your elbow, that poor little thing that 's so 
weak, 
, . . . ' AVhy, 't is that smells so sweet, I declare ! 

Ah ha I is it that ? Have you found out now 
Why I cherish that odd little fright? 



110 AUTUMN FLOWERS. 

* All is not gold that glitters,' you know ; 
And it is not all worth makes the greatest show 
In the glare of the strongest light. 

There are human flowers full many, I trow, 

As unlovely as that by your side. 
That a common observer passeth by 
With a scornful lip, and a careless eye, 

In the heyday of pleasure and pride. 

But move one of those to some quiet spot, 
From the mid-day sun's broad glare, 

Where domestic peace broods with dove-like wing; 

And try if the homely, despised thing 
May not yield sweet fragrance there. 

Or wait till the days of trial come — 

The dark days of trouble and woe ; 
When they shirk, and shut up, late so bright in the 



AUTUMX FLOWERS. Ill 

Then turn to the little despised one, 
And see if 't will serve you so. 

And judge not again at a single glance, 

Nor pass sentence hastily ; 
There are many good things in this world of ours ; 
Many sweet things and rare ! weeds that prove 
precious flowers ! 

Little dreamed of by you or me. 



MY EVENING. 

Farewell, bright sun ! mine eyes have watched 

Thine hour of waning light ; 
And tender twilight ! fare thee well ; 

And welcome, star-crowned night I 

Pale ! serious ! silent! with deep spell 
Lulling the heart to rest, 



112 AUTUMN FLOWERS. 

As lulls the mother's low, sweet song, 
The infant on her breast. 

Mine own beloved hour ! — mine own I 

Sacred to quiet thought, 
To sacred memories^ to calm joys 

With no false lustre fraught ! 

Mine own beloved hour I for now^ 
Methinks with garish day 

I shut the world out, and with those 
Long lost, or far away, 

The dead, the absent, once again 
My soul holds converse free ; 

To such illusions, life I how dull 
Thy best reality ! 

The vernal nights are chilly yet, 

And cheerily and bright 
The hearth still blazes, flashing round 

Its ruddy, flickering light. 



AUTUMN FLOWERS. 113 

' Bring in the lamp — so — set it there, 

Just show its veiled ray, 
(Leaving all else in shadowy tone,) 

Fallon my book— and — stay — 

' Leave my work by me ' — Well I love 

The needle's useful art ; 
'T is unambitious, womanl)'-, 

And mine 's a woman's heart. 

Not that I ply with sempstress rage, 

As if for life, or bread ; 
No, sooth to say ; unconsciously 

Slackening the half-drawn thread, 

From fingers that (as spell-bound) stop. 

Pointing the needle wrong. 
Mine eyes toward the open book 

Stray oft, and tarry long. 

' Stop, stop ! Leave open the glass door 
Into that winter bower ; ' 



114 AUTUMN FLOWERS. 

For soon therein th' uprisen moon 
Will pour her silvery shower ; 

' Will glilter on those glossy leaves ; 

On that white pavement shine ; 
And dally with her eastern love, 

That wreathing jessamine. 

' Thanks, Lizzy ! No ; there 's nothing more 

Thy loving zeal can do ; 
Only — O yes ! — that gipsy flower,* 

Set that beside me too.' 

' That Ethiop, in the China vase? ' 

' Ay ; set it here ; that 's right. 
Shut the door after you.' 'T is done ; 

I 'm settled for the night. 

Settled and snug ; and first, as if 
The fact to ascertain, 

* The nigbt-smelling stock. 



AUTUMN FLOWERS. 115 

I glance around, and stir the fire, 
And trim the lamp again. 

Then, dusky flower ! I stoop t' inhale 

Thy fragrance. Thou art one 
That wooeth not the vulgar eye, 

Nor the broad staring sun : 

Therefore I love thee ! (selfish love 

Such preference may be ;) 
That thou reserves! all thy sweets, 

Coy thing! for night and me. 

What sound was that ? Ah, madam puss ! 

I know that tender mew, 
That meek white face, those sea-green eyes, 

Those whiskers, wet with dew, 

To the gold glass — the greenhouse glass — 

Pressed closely from without ; 
Well, thou art heard ; I '11 let thee in, 

Though skulking home, no doubt, 



116 AUTUMN FLOWERS. 

From lawless prowl. Ah, ruthless cat ! 

What evil hast thou done? 
What deeds of rapine, the broad eye 

Of open day that shun ? 

What ! not a feather plucked tonight ? 

Is that what thou wouldst tell 
With that soft purr, those twinkling eyes, 

And waving tail ? Well, well, 

Iknoiv thee^ friend ! But get thee in, 
By Ranger stretch and doze ; 

Nay, never growl, old man ! her tail 
Just whisked across thy nose. 

But H was no act premeditate, 

Thy greatness to molest : 
Then, with that long, luxurious sigh, 

Sink down again to rest ; 

But not before one loving look 
Toward me, with that long sigh, 



AUTUMN FLOWERS. 117 

Says, ' mistress mine ! all 's right, all 's well ! 
Thou 'rt there, and here am I! ' 

That point at rest, we 're still again : 

I on my work intent ; 
At least, with poring eyes thereon, 

In seeming earnest bent : 

And fingers, nimble at their task, 

Mechanically true ; 
Tho' heaven knows where, what scenes, the while, 

My thoughts are traveling to ! 

Now far from earth, now over earth, 

Traversing lands and seas ; 
Now stringing, in a sing-song mood, 

Such idle rhymes as these ; 

Now dwelling on departed days — 

Ah ! that 's no lightsome mood ; 
On those to come, no longer now 

Through hope's bright focus viewed. 



113 AUTUMN FLOWERS. 

On that which is — ay, there I pause, 

No more in young delight ; 
But patient, grateful, well assured 

' Whatever is, is right I ' 

And all to be is in His hands ; 

O, who would take it thence ? 
Give me not up to mine own will, 

Merciful Providence ! 

Such thoughts, when other thoughts, may be, 

Are darkening into gloom. 
Come to me like the angel shape. 

That, standing by the tomb, 

Cheered those who came to sorrow there. 

And then I see, and bless 
His love in all that he withholds. 

And all I still possess. 

So varied — now with book, or work, 
Or pensive reverie, 



AUTUMN FLOWERS. 119 

Or waking dreams or fancy flights, 
Or scribbling vein, may be ; 

Or eke the pencil's cunning craft, 

Or lowly murmured lay 
To the according viola — 

Calm evening slips away. 

The felt-shod hours move swiftly on, 

Until the stroke often, 
(The accustomed signal,) summons round 

My little household. Then, 

The door unclosing, enters first 

That aged, faithful friend. 
Whose prayer is with her master's child 

Her blameless days to end. 

The younger pair come close behind ; 

But her dear hand alone, 
(Her dear old hand ! now tremulous 

With palsying weakness grown,) 



120 AUTUMN FLOWERS. 

Must reverently before me place 
The sacred book. 'T is there ; 

And all our voices, all our hearts 
Unite in solemn prayer: 

In praise and thanksgiving, for all 

The blessings of the light ; 
In prayer, that he would keep us through 

The watches of the night. 

A simple rite I and soon performed 5 

Leaving, in every breast, 
A heart more fittingly prepared 

For sweet, untroubled rest. 

And so we part. But not before, 
Dear nurse ! a kiss from thee 

Imprints my brow, thy fond good-night 
To God commending me ! 

Amen ! and may His angels keep 
Their watch around thy bed, 



AUTUMN FLOWERS. 121 

And guard from every hurtfyil thing 
Thy venerable head ! 



FAREWELL TO MY FRIENDS. 

O : WEAR no mourning weeds for me, 
AVhen I am laid i' the ground ! 

O ! slied no tears for one whose sleep 
AVill then be sweet and sound! 

Only, my friends ! do this for me : 
Pluck many a pale primrose, 

And strew them on my shroud, before 
The coffin-lid they close. 

And lay the heart's-ease on my breast, 
(Meet emblem there 't will be,) 

And gently place in my cold hand 
A sprig of rosemary' 
9 



t2-2 AUTUMN FLOWERS. 

And by the buried bones of those 

When living I loved best ; 
See me at last laid quietly ; < 

Then leave me to my rest. 

And wlicn the church-bell tolls for me 

Its last, long, hollow knell ; 
As the deep murmur dies away, 

Bid me a kind farewell. 

And, stay ; methinks there 's something yet : 

I 'd fain request of ye ; 
Something, 1 'd bid ye comfort, keep, 

Or love, for love of me. 

My nurse I O ! she will only wait 

Till I am fast asleep, 
Then close beside me, stealthily, 

To her own pillow creep. 

My dog ! Poor fellow ! Let him not 
Know hunger, hardship, wrong ; 



AtTTCMN FLOWERS. 123 

But he is old and feeble too, 
He will not miss me long. 

My dwelling ! That will pass away 

To those, when I am gone, 
Will raze the lowly edifice 

To its foundation-stone. 

My flowers I that in deep loneliness 

Have been as friends to me ; 
My garden ! That, let run to waste, 

A common field will be. 

My picture ! That 's already yours — 

Resemblance true, ye say : 
O, true indeed ! — a thing of dust, 

That vanisheth away ! 

My harp I But that 's a fairy gift 

I can bequeath to none ; 
Unearthly hands will take it back 

When the last strain is done. 



124 AUTUMN FLOWERS. 

So then, I 've nothing more to ask, 

And little left to give ; 
And yet I know, in your kind hearts, 

My memorj' will live. 

And so farewell, my dear good friends ! 

And farewell, world, to thee ; 
I part with some in love ; with all 

In peace and charily. 



THE PRIMROSE. 

I SAW it in my evening walk, 

A little lonely flower! 
Under a hollow bank it grew, 

Deep in a mossy bo'w^er. 

An oak's gnarled root, to roof the cave 
"With Gotliic fretwork sprung, 

Whence jewelled fern, and arum leaves, 
And ivy garlands hung. 



AUTUMN FLOWERS. 125 

And from beneath came sparkling out 

From a fallen tree's old shell, 
A little rill, that dipt about 

The lady in her cell. 

And there, methought, with bashful pride, 

She seemed to sit and look 
On her ow^n maiden loveliness, 

Pale imaged in the brook. 

No other flower — no rival grew 

Beside my pensive maid ; 
She dwelt alone, a cloistered nun, 

In solitude and shade. 

No sunbeam on that fairy well 

Darted its dazzling light ; 
Only, methought, some clear, cold star 

Might tremble there at night. 

No ruffling wind could reach her there ; 
No eye, methought, but mine, 



120 AUTUMN FLOWERS. 

Or the young lamb's that came to drink, 
Had spied her secret shrine. 

And there was pleasantness to me 
In such belief. Cold eyes 

That slight dear Nature's lowliness, 
Profane her mysteries. 

Long time I looked and lingered there, 

Absorbed in still delight : 
My spirit drank deep quietness 

In, with that quiet sight. 



FAREWELL TO GREECE. 

Farewell forever, classic land 
Of tyrants and of slaves ! 

My homeward path lies far away 
Over the dark blue waves ; 



AUTUMN FLOWERS. 127 

Whither I go, no marble fanes 

From myrtle steeps arise, 
Nor shineih there such fervid suns 

From such unclouded skies. 

But yet, the earth of that dear land 

Is holier earth to me, 
Than thine, immortal Marathon! 

Or thine, Thermopyloe! 

For there my fathers' ashes rest, 

And living hearts there be — 
Warm, living hearts, and loving ones, 

That still remember me. 

And, O ! the land that welcometh 

To one such bosom shrine. 
Though all beside were ruined, lost, 

That land would still be mine. 

Ay, mine I albeit the breath of life 
Not there I breathed first ; 



128 AUTUMN FLOWERS. 

Ay, mine ! albeit with barrenness 
And polar darkness cursed. 

The bird that wanders all day long, 
At sunset seeks her nest : 

I 've wandered long ; my native land ! 
Now take me to thy rest. 



THE THREE FRIENDS. 

STANZAS ACCOMPANYINO A riCTDBS. 

We three were loving friends ! A lowly life 
Of humble peace, obscure content, we led: 

Stealing away, withouten noise or strife, 
Like some small streamlet in its mossy bed. 

We had our joys in common ; wisdom, wit, 
And learned lore, had little share in those : 

Tims, by the winter fire we used to sit, 
Or in the summer evening's warm repose, 



AUTUMN FLOWEKS. 129 

At our sweet bowerj^ window, opening down 
To the green grass, beneath the flowering lime, 

When the deep curfew from the distant town 
Came mellowed, like the voice of olden time ; 

And our grave neighbor, from the barn hard by, 
The great gray owl, sailed out on soundless wings, 

And the pale stars, like beams of memory, 
Brightened as twilight veiled all earthly things. 

'T was then we used to sit, as pictured thus — 
My pillow, as in childhood, still the same, 

Those venerable knees, and close to us. 
Old Ranger, pressing oft his jealous claim. 

And then I loved to feel that gentle hand 
Laid like a blessing on my head, to hear 

The ' auld warld ' stories, ever at command, 
By all but her forgotten many a year. 

And then we talked together of the days 
We both remembered ; and of those who slept ; 
10 



130 AUTUMN FLOWERS. 

And the old dog looked up with wistful gaze, 
As if^e, too, that faithful record kept. 

We three were loving friends ! Now one is gone, 
And one, poor feeble thing 1 declineth fast ; 

And well I wot, the days are drawing on 
Will find me here, the lonely and the last ; 

But not to tarry long ; and when I go. 
The stranger's hand will have dominion here, 

And lay thy v/alls, my peaceful dwelling! low, 
As my last lodging in the churchyard near. 



RANGER'S GRAVE. 

Hk 's dead and gone I he 's dead and gone 
And the lime-tree branches wave, 
And the daisy blows, 
And the green grass grows. 
Upon his grave. 



AUTUMN FLOWERS. 131 

He 's dead and gone ! he 's dead and gone I 
And he sleeps by the flowenng lime, 
Where he loved to lie, 
When the sun was high, 
In summer time. , 

We 've laid him there, for I could not bear 
His poor old bones to hide 
In some dark hole. 
Where rat and mole 

And blind worms bide. 

We 've laid him there, where the blessed air 
Disports with the lovely light. 
And raineth showers 
Of those sweet flowers 
So silver white ; 

Where the blackbird sings, and the wild bee's wings 
Make music all day long, 



133 AUTUMX FLOWERS. 

And the cricket at night 
(A dusky sprite I) 

Takes up the song. 

He loved to lie, where his wakeful eye 
Could keep me still in sight 
Whence a word or a sign, 
Or a look of mine, 

Brought him like light. 

Nor a word nor sign, nor look of mine, 
From under the lime-tree bough. 
With bark and bound. 
And frolic round, 

Shall bring him now. 

But he taketh his rest, where he loved best 
In the days of his life to be, 
And that place will not 
Be a common spot 
Of earth lo me. 



# 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




014 546 226 5 



